After Wicked
by 1nf1n1ty
Summary: Oz after the Wicked Years. Will Rain ever be reunited with Tip/Ozma? What will come of Liir's musings about the throne? Will Trism or Candle come back? And whatever happened to Boq?


Summary: Oz after the Wicked Years. Will Rain ever be reunited with Tip/Ozma? What will come of Liir's musings about the throne? Will Trism or Candle come back? And whatever happened to Boq?

A/N: Set after the end of the Wicked Years. Spoilers for all four books.

* * *

One — Tying up loose plot ends, and opening a new chapter of Oz history

* * *

_"I'm merely saying. You have the richest bloodline for magic in all of Oz. You have the strongest instrument for change this land has ever seen. And you have your own need to answer to. There is Tip, turned into Ozma. You could turn, too._

_"You've done much good. You've helped complete Elphaba's work, and in a way your father's work, too. Don't you deserve a reward? Oh come now, don't look at me like that. What I'm bringing up is a morally neutral proposition."_

So the Serpent had tempted her, tempted her to open the Grimmerie and summon forth the spell that could fix all of her problems, soothe all of her sorrows, and make everything all right. As if such a spell existed. As if it could all be solved so easily, just like that. She had experienced enough of life to know better, and she had resisted the temptation—at least that time. But who knew what the future might bring? She could change her mind. As long as the Grimmerie existed, it was a temptation to all who knew of it, and all who might dream of it. It was a beacon that called out to ambitious hearts. It could fall into a tyrant's hands. It could be used to start more wars. It could not be left alone.

But she did not intend to guard it and watch over it, as if the duty were some sort of family legacy. So, she had dug it up from the ground where they had buried it, taken it to the end of the earth, and dumped it into the ocean at the edge of the world. If it was too dangerous for whatever other world it had come from, then it was too dangerous for Oz, too. Whoever had hidden the Grimmerie in this world, he had wanted to get rid of it, but he had not destroyed it. Perhaps he had wanted to destroy it, but he could not bring himself to let go of such a precious, powerful object. Temptation, temptation.

One good toss into the ocean buried all those temptations for good.

She watched it fall through the air and hit the water. It floated for a moment, but the sea seeped into the pages and finally swallowed the book whole. _There, it's done._ There was a moment of fear, a sudden twitch of doubt, a small tug of regret threatening to break the surface. But it passed quickly, and all that was left was relief. Some secrets were meant to remain unknown, some mysteries unraveled, some ambitions unachieved, some wishes unfulfilled.

She looked up again, and looked around herself. Blue sky and blue sea in every direction, and a speck where the Goose was following behind.

_I'm trying to tell you to keep going,_ the Goose had said.

Well, there was no point in going back to Oz. She would not go back and sit around waiting for Tip—or Ozma, or whoever—to decide what they were going to do and what would happen next. As for her parents, they had gotten by for many years without her, and surely they could get by for a few more. Besides, whatever her mother was looking for, whatever her father was waiting for, it was not her. They had let her go once, and now, a part of her was gone from them for good. So, they had learned to let her go again.

Oz had taught her abandonment, loneliness, loss, and heartache. She could take it, she had taken it, and she could go back and take some more whenever she liked. But for now, she had nothing else to lose.

So, she could explore.

She turned her back on the homeland where she had never had a home, picked a direction, and rode the wind. Let the old Goose follow if he chose, to new shores or to a final exhausted plunge into the endless water, or turn back if he decided that she had lost her mind. She would move forward into the world, and seek new horizons. When she was ready to return to Oz, she could do just that, and if those old desires were still there, if those empty spaces in her heart were still unfilled…

No, she would not dwell on that now. She could return to all of it later, when she was ready.

Until then, she was as free as a bird.

* * *

Liir started with the thought that it was not fair to his daughter.

Rain had finally found someone to love, only to lose him. She had lost him to the throne of Oz, to the Ozma bloodline, to the need for the throne and the bloodline to continue. And Tip had lost himself, too. His place in the world and his path in life had been decided for him, whether he liked it or not. And if Ozma did not like it and wanted to abdicate, there were sure to be consequences. Who would take her place? Another charlatan, like the Wizard? A society figure, like Lady Glinda, who was kind enough but lacked the cunning for politics? A tool of the bankers, like the fake Scarecrow? A religious zealot, like Shell Thropp? Even the best of them, Lady Glinda, could do no better than not make things worse. The worst of them had degraded Animals to second-class citizens, wiped out the royal family of a Vinkus tribe, ordered a civilian massacre in Quadling Country, driven Munchkinland and the Glikkus to secession, and so on and so forth.

But thanks to the royal line's old place in Oz history and the lucky fact of Mombey having raised Tip in Munchkinland, all of Oz was now reuniting around the returned Ozma, and the fighting was over. Over, over, over. For that, Liir was truly thankful. If war still raged, the Grimmerie would still be a target, as would the descendents of the Witch who could read it. Now, even though there was still plenty of confusion, anxiety, and tension, at least there was no more fighting. But that peace was built on Ozma's back, a burden for Tip to shoulder, and Rain, too.

For an alternative, why not have done with all rulers? Why not let people rule themselves? After all of the chaos, hadn't people had enough of Emperors and Eminences? _No, not really,_ thought Liir ruefully, or else they would not keep popping up. Nessarose had fallen, but Mombey had taken her place. The throne in the Emerald City had never sat vacant. And it was true that _somebody_ had to be in charge, to maintain order and resolve internal conflicts. But that somebody could not be allowed to run amok, to empower and enrich himself by trampling all over the citizenry, who only wanted to farm their land and run their shops and earn their wages in peace. _But then again…_ Liir recalled the conscription of the Animals in Munchkinland, and how the masses had cheered that. _There's a tyrant inside each of us, isn't there?_

No, there was no perfect solution, but there had to be _something_. Something better than the way things were now.

Liir got to his feet. Sometimes, it was better to escape the cottage and think under the sky, letting his thoughts organize themselves into something that he could write down. He could take a stroll, maybe sit under the tree that had sprouted from Elphaba's broomstick, arranging his ideas in his head or dreaming about where Rain and the Goose might have gone…

There was someone standing under the tree. Even from afar, Liir knew that figure.

Trism.

_You came._

As if he had heard the thought, Trism turned, and saw Liir. Liir could not see his expression from that distance, but by the time Liir made it up the slope to the tree, Trism's face had settled into a blank neutrality. So, Liir spoke first.

"I knew you'd come."

One eyebrow rose. "You did?"

_No. I suspected—or hoped?—that I'd see you again, but I couldn't know for sure, not until this moment._ "The last time you sent dragons into battle, you came looking for me afterward," said Liir softly.

And they both knew what that had led to. But things had happened differently that time. That time, Trism's dragons had been sent against the Quadlings, to quell a rebellion sparked by a civilian massacre that Liir had carried out. When they had reunited by chance in the Emerald City, they had killed off Emperor Shell's dragon fleet, not to atone for their past sins, but to prevent whatever future slaughter they could. But later, Trism had changed his mind about using his skills. He had gone back into the war, for the other side, and unleashed dragons on the Emerald City.

"This time, you kept your hands clean," said Trism. Without resentment, without judgment.

Liir could have said that he had no choice, as he could not read the Grimmerie anyway and would not have been much help to either side. But he shook his head and said, "My hands aren't clean. I didn't try to stop you. I didn't try to destroy the dragons or turn them against you, to protect the civilians." Candle had called him out on that, but he did not speak her name. "I just couldn't do it." To use the Grimmerie, to call a spell against anyone—he had not had it in him. Had he lifted a hand in defense of the Emerald City, it would only have prolonged the war, perhaps given the advantage to Emperor Shell and led to the crushing defeat of Munchkinland, with much death and destruction to the civilians there and to the Animals drafted into the army. Either way, one side or the other would have used him to their own advantage. No matter what he did, he would have to live with the consequences. In which case, the best he could do was to do no harm, and do nothing.

"Well, I'm done, too," said Trism, with a small sigh, as if he had already sighed out most of his exhaustion. "They wouldn't let me go until I trained up some successors, and now that that's done, I'm finally free."

"I'm surprised they didn't put you into Southstairs, like they did Lady Glinda." Mombey had won on the battlefield, but the revelation of her duplicity in hiding Ozma had given the victory to Emperor Shell, though he had abdicated in favor of the newly-discovered Ozma Tippetarius. But if Glinda's act of defiance against Emerald City forces had gotten her thrown into Southstairs, then certainly Trism's siding with Munchkinland should have landed him there.

But Trism shook his head. "It's because I took a clear side that I'm free now. Now that the fighting is done and Ozma's back, everyone wants a good, clean reconciliation and reunion. They can't possibly put everyone who fought for Munchkinland into Southstairs. Mombey's there for her trickery in hiding Ozma. Glinda's there because she acted on her own volition. She betrayed Loyal Oz, but she didn't join the Munchkinland side, so there's no one to defend her. By the way, Glinda passed away."

"Oh…" Liir sighed. "Well, she wasn't young, and Southstairs is harsh."

Trism nodded. "They gave her an honorable funeral. They say that she looked like she had died at peace."

"What other news from the Emerald City?"

"Lots of trouble, none of it serious. I mean, nothing that'll trigger a new war. Ozma is still trying to catch up on growing up. The Lion is still managing as her regent. Now that Ozma's back, people are ready to forgive, if not forget, and move on. People want to recover, and restore normalcy."

Liir remembered a new complication, on top of everything else that made Oz fragile at the moment. "The dragon fleet, and the newly-trained dragonmasters…"

"Are under the control of the regent, who promises that they will be kept in storage, sharp and ready, but not used except against external enemies, and only in absolute necessity. And don't give me that look. The cat's out of the bag, and you can't stuff it back in. Once that page from that accursed book gave people the idea, they can't let go of it. Of course they'll keep an arsenal. And even if I never existed, they would've found someone else who had a talent with the dragons. I'm not that rare or special. I don't have any magical bloodline. I'm sure they could've found other people with the same abilities."

"But there's no one like you. We destroyed the dragons so that it wouldn't happen again. But then, you went and raised more, and you sent them out into battle." There was no accusation in Liir's voice. He did not hold it against Trism. He was just trying to figure out why anyone bothered to fight, why everyone didn't just give up as he had, so that there would be no fighting at all.

"Yes, we destroyed one stable of dragons, and so what?" Trism's voice was cold, but Liir could hear a hint of prickliness. "Nothing changed. The fighting went on. The deaths went on. The hunt went on, for you, and for me. I still wasn't free. Before, I was chained to the dragons, and after that, I was chained to—well, I guess to you. The son of the Witch who could read the Grimmerie. You're more dangerous than a dragon, aren't you?"

_Yes, I guess that's true._ When Cherrystone had surrounded them at St. Glinda's mauntery, Liir had escaped safely by air, but Trism had been captured and brutally tortured. They had released him afterward, hoping they could follow him to Liir, but Trism had slipped away long enough to find Apple Press Farm and meet Candle—Liir would not think about that—before fleeing for good so that he would not be caught and tortured again. After that, Liir had gone into hiding, and Trism had gone over to Munchkinland. They had not been able to seek each other, lest they run into Cherrystone seeking them. Yes, now that the war was over, they were free, and it was the attack of the dragons that had led to the ending of the war.

"Are you angry with me? That I wouldn't help you?"

"No," said Trism simply.

As Liir had expected. _I may have made my own choices, for my own reasons, but I won't love you unless you make your own choices, for your own reasons._ Trism had done what he'd done to bring an end to the war, and free himself from the chains that bound him. But he still carried the guilt, the sorrow, the pain, the same pain that had broken him after the Quadling Country incident, the pain that they both knew too well. He understood Liir's reasons, as easily as Liir understood his. Perhaps that was just what he needed now. Someone who had drawn a different lesson, chosen a different path. Someone to remind him of the costs and the consequences. Now Liir saw that if he had chosen to help Trism, it might have ruined them both.

Trism set down his pack and sat down under the tree. Liir sat down beside him.

"So, what have you been doing?" Trism inquired.

"Candle's not here," was the first thing that came out of Liir's mouth, as if that explained anything.

"Okay, so you have not been getting laid. What _have_ you been doing?"

"Thinking. Writing."

"About?"

"The need for a throne."

"That's deep."

"It's unjust, isn't it? The ruler doesn't have a choice about whether to rule, and the ruled don't have a choice about who rules them. And the ruler might rule in an unjust way."

"So, what do you propose, that people volunteer for the job? And be made to rule in a just way? And leave if the populace doesn't like them?"

"That's the idea."

"I only see one little problem. If he's the ruler, who's going to make him rule in a just way or leave?"

"The people. The people decide who's in charge, and for how long, and what he's allowed to do and not do. Let the people be the ultimate ruler over themselves."

"Oh, you're talking about a real democratic synod. Like what they had at St. Glinda's mauntery."

"Exactly so."

Trism mulled this over. "Well, that would solve the problem of people complaining about their rulers. If people ruled themselves, there's no one else to blame. Blame yourself and your neighbors."

"That's true, too, I guess."

"But most people aren't as pious and united in common cause as a community of nuns. Why would people want to be ruled by their neighbors?"

"No, it's not like that. We're all part of the populace, and the populace rules itself. Everyone has a say, and no one gets special privileges. Like the Conference of the Birds. They acknowledge no ruler, and they each cherish their independence, but they all came together and flew together. It could happen."

Trism frowned. "They flew together because they had a common enemy."

"No, they flew together because they had a common _purpose_. They all want the same thing—a free sky to fly in, a safe land to fly over. When that was threatened, they came together. It wasn't just against a shared enemy. It was for a shared purpose."

The frown turned to a smile. "You've really given this a lot of thought."

"Like I said, it could happen."

"I admit, it's a good idea. Have you given any thought to how you'd set this up, the ruling council or minister or whatever?"

"That's the next step. I'm thinking about how things are now, after all that's happened in the non-Gillikin regions during the interregnum, and how relieved everyone is that Ozma is back. You're right, people feel united, and hopeful, and ready to move on. I don't want to disrupt that."

"Then, take baby steps. Things are in flux right now. Ozma's back, but no one knows if or how she'll rule. Most people probably don't even remember how things worked under the previous Ozmas. Depending on what kind of changes you have in mind, it might even make it easier to recover from the wars. This is a time of adjustment, ripe for change."

"Yeah." Liir smiled. "I'm glad you don't think I'm crazy."

"Actually, your idea is quite good, if it can be put into practice."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah. If people rule themselves, I think they'll be less inclined toward war. It's the masses who suffer when war breaks out. Their regular lives get disrupted by all the burning and conquering and taxing, plus they have to do the actual fighting."

"What about the conscription of the Animals, in Munchkinland?"

"Oh, right. Good point. That's true, isn't it? If there's a king, he makes his subjects fight. If the people rule, the humans will make the Animals fight. Well, maybe there should be some rules about that. The ruler has to rule justly, right? It's the same if the people are the ruler. The people have to rule justly, too."

"This is getting more and more complicated," sighed Liir.

"If you want to make a plan that can work, yes, it will be complicated. And after all that, it still won't be perfect."

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, enjoying the shade under the tree, the light breeze past the hill.

"I'm glad you're here," said Liir softly. Trism probably knew that already, but he wanted to say it anyway.

"You said that Candle's not here?" The hesitant undertone in Trism's voice indicated that he would not stay if Candle were. Whether that was because he wouldn't want to disturb their domestic life or because he resented and envied Candle, Liir did not know. All he knew was that when Trism had arrived at Apple Press Farm that time, gruesomely injured from the torture he had suffered, he had found not Liir but Liir's pregnant wife. Candle had explained what Liir had not—that Liir had not been conscious during the conception. What else Candle and Trism might have said to each other, Liir did not know.

"Candle's furious with me," Liir explained about their present situation. "When Rain was born green, I panicked, and the first thought I had was that we had to hide her. To keep her safe. So she grew up alone, as an orphan servant, and when she came back to us, it was too late. Too late for her to think of us in her heart as her parents. Candle feels that she lost her child, and she can't forgive me or herself for letting it happen."

"It's easy to feel that way after nothing went wrong," said Trism softly.

Liir wondered if Trism really believed that, or if he was just trying to make him feel better. Well, Trism knew better than anyone how desperately Emperor Shell had hunted for Liir. He had the scars to prove it. And thank goodness Rain hadn't been there when Mombey's minions had found them at Kiamo Ko. Who knows what they would have done to her to make Liir do their bidding, or to make her do their bidding. _Yes, I'm glad I got her away from that._ Liir impulsively reached out and wrapped his arms around his old lover's shoulders.

"Stop that," snapped Trism, trying to wriggle out of his embrace.

Liir understood that the scars were a thing of the past and he was not to dwell on it, and that he needed a new reason to hold Trism now. So, he said, "Thank you for coming here, and listening to me. I was about to start talking to the trees."

"Hmph," said Trism, but he stopped struggling and let Liir lean against him.

* * *

They spent days and weeks working out ideas. It seemed to Liir that having someone to talk to made everything grow clearer a lot faster, and Trism, eager as everyone else to move on from the past, joined in Liir's purpose with gusto. But it soon became apparent that they were not going to get all the details right by guessing what might work and what would not. And they needed details to turn an idea into a real plan.

"You need to get out of this little corner of the world," said Trism at last. "Go around, ask people what they think of all this. Ask them what they want."

Liir knew it, too. His ideas had started with the Conference of the Birds and the governing committee at St. Glinda's mauntery, but there was so much in Oz that he had not yet seen. Perhaps it was time to leave Nether How again.

But what if Candle returned while they were gone?

It was not as if things would be less complicated if they stayed and waited for her to return. In spite of all the danger and betrayal that they had put each other through, they had never stopped thinking of each other. Liir had missed Trism, oh so much, and soon found that Trism had missed him, too. The nights that they could now spend in each other's arms were like a dream.

But Candle…

Candle had been gone the whole time, had never come back or sent a message or anything. Liir wondered if she wanted anything to do with him anymore, if she had ever wanted anything to do with him. When he had been hauled into her mauntery in a deathly coma, she had been assigned by her superiors to keep him company, and then locked in the room with him by that old crone Yackle. To wake him and save his life, she had become his wife and conceived his child. Did she resent that? Did she regret yielding herself up to an unconscious stranger whom she had been forced to rescue? Did she suspect that Liir had never fully believed her story about her pregnancy, until her child had been born with his mother's skin? Did she hate him for taking up with Trism? And how had she felt when Trism had shown up at Apple Press Farm, as surprised at her pregnant belly as she must have been at his acquaintance with Liir, and she had had to make Liir's excuses to Trism, to explain to the lover of the father of her child exactly how that child had been conceived? _I have not done right by you, my savior, __my wife, __m__other of my child._ He had once thought of Trism as his best beloved, but that was not true. The one he loved above all was his daughter, and for that gift—as well as the gift of his life to this day—he had Candle to thank.

But Candle was gone now, gone beyond his reach, perhaps never to return. His general understanding was that when a woman grew dissatisfied with her husband and left him, she would not come back unless she could find nothing better in the world.

_I'm sorry, Candle. But I can't keep waiting here for you. I have to move forward, too.  
_

He wrote her a simple note, explaining that he was musing about power and governance in Oz, that Trism had come by, and that they were going on a trip to develop the idea. Let her draw the obvious conclusions, and judge him for it as she would. Or perhaps they would find her before she found the note.

Trism waited patiently while Liir wrote the note, but added no message of his own. Then, with the book full of preliminary ideas in Liir's pack, they set off.


End file.
